


The Grimms Are Rolling In Their Graves

by AndreaLyn



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skinny's made a real business of telling stories in Austria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grimms Are Rolling In Their Graves

It had taken only five complaints of hating the boredom of Austria so much that the boys started to indulge each other with campfire stories, horror stories, and if you corralled Webster, you could hear something about history and all the battles they fought on all the ground in all the world. It was Skinny Sisk who told the best stories though and had enough of Easy (and some of Fox and Dog) coming over to hear ‘em.  
  
“Now listen real close, boys,” Skinny said in a hush, ready to paint the picture for another night. “Because this one’s a real corker.”  
  
Somehow, even though they were in Austria, the woods became denser with fog, the trees greener, the sky bluer. It was easy to think that they were in some fantastical forest when Skinny started describing the way the path crunched under the feet of the hero of the piece.  
  
 _Now, boys, this one’s about a little miss. She had a grandmother lying in those woods and was tough as anything. She clung to her pretty red coat more than anything._  
  
And just as the woods had changed, it was too easy to imagine the picture of that young girl treading on the paths.  
  
 _Actually, nah. No, you know what? How about we do this? Little Red Johnny Martin._  
  
“I’m already not liking this story,” said the hero of the piece to the sky in his red cowl and cape, patent leather shoes tapping against the path with distaste and a typical Johnny Martin scowl on his lips. Never mind the liking or the not liking because when a man was a protagonist of a story, he had deeds to commit.   
  
And such deeds included visiting grandma.  
  
“Here I am,” Little Red Martin announced to the woods at large. “Walking to my grandmother’s house in the woods.” As if cognizant of the lurking presence of an omniscient narrator, he glared at the sky and prayed that any gods in the general vicinity knew better than to interfere.   
  
 _But you can’t just go without a little trouble and this little trouble came in the form of the Big Bad Bull_.  
  
“Hey there, miss,” a cigar-chewing, smoke-puffing, hulk-of-a-wolf-man edged out from behind one of the trees. Hair grew  _everywhere_  up and down his arms and back and sides and face and even in some places that hair was probably not supposed to grow. “What you got in that basket? Smells pretty fine.”  
  
“Yeah, well, you can get your own,” Little Red Martin sneered at the Bull and hitched the basket closer to his side. “These cigarettes and Hershey bars are going to one person and one person alone and that’s my dear old grandmother.”  
  
“Grandmother, huh?” The Big Bad Bull raised his brow and puffed, puffed, puffed at that cigar of his before he slowly slid back into the shadows of the woods. “Well, then, you keep on going to that little cabin in the woods, Little Red Martin. I bet there’s a real nice meal waiting for m…you there. For you there.”  
  
 _And so because Little Red Martin wasn’t a complete idiot, he made sure that when he got to grandmother’s place, he had a bayonet at the ready. But it seemed safe. The Big Bad Bull was nowhere to be found and his dear grandmother was resting in bed with covers nearly up to her eyes._  
  
“Grandma! I brought you the smokes you kept asking for and more Hershey bars than you can shake a stick at.”  
  
“Oh good, my dear Little Boy,” his grandmother said, her voice sounding pretty terrible.  
  
“Grandma?” Little Red Martin asked suspiciously. “Maybe you ought to lay off the smokes. You’re starting to sound pretty rough.”  
  
 _Hey boys, what can I say? Some of you heavy smokers are starting to sound like the creatures from the lagoon._  
  
“Come closer, my dear Boy, and I’ll show you just how pleasant my breath is.”  
  
Little Red Martin approached hesitantly, not sure if he entirely trusted this situation. “Well,” he said mostly to himself. “I’m in my Grandma’s house and that’s grandma’s clothes and if it looks like a duck and sounds like a duck, it’s a…”  
  
“It’s a wolf, don’t go closer!” shouted Hunter Winters from outside the window.   
  
“Wolves quack?”  
  
 _Oh, stop looking at me like that, Web. A man’s gotta put some humor in his bits!_  
  
Hardly a second passed before Hunter Winters burst in the front door of the house brandishing his trademark pistol and pointed it to the figure in the bed. “I think you’ll find, Little Red Martin,” he calmly remarked. “That your grandmother has been replaced by the Big Bad Bull. And that he intends to eat you whole.” They both looked expectantly at the girth of the figure in grandma’s clothes.  
  
The Big Bad Bull shrugged. “I got hungry,” he explained simply. “And they say lean meat’s the best for you.”  
  
The collective group of Easy started to slowly fade out of the story because while Skinny could spin an interesting tale, they hardly ever lasted that long and always faltered into bad puns, strange situations, and occasionally dirty recollections from an ocean away. This time, the story pauses because Winters had approached the group and silenced them all.  
  
“What’s going on?” Winters asked curiously.   
  
Skinny brightened up and put himself right in the line of fire, hiding the furious redness of Martin’s face as he lightened up. “Just talking about broads, sir,” he helpfully supplied.   
  
There was a long moment in which the Company seemed to hold its collective breath as Winters looked them in the eye one by one, as if ferreting out the truth of what Skinny was actually talking about. Winters’ gaze found its way back to Skinny (who merely grinned like the war’s victory depended on it) and he gave a perfunctory nod.   
  
“Carry on, then,” he remarked with a wave in their direction before he made his way off in the direction of Nixon and Welsh.  
  
The Company’s sigh was exhaled and probably could have pushed over a tent or two with its strength.   
  
“Now,” Skinny said with a broad grin as the fellas started to collect their belongings and return to their light duties – which was just code for getting as drunk as was absolutely possible. “Don’t forget tomorrow’s story. Webster, The Little Mermaid!”  
  
As the crowd parted, a mollified Webster stood there in the middle with a snickering Joe Liebgott beside him.  
  
“Oh,  _come on_.”  
  
“Them’s the breaks, Web.”  
  
*  
  
Maybe it was just high hopes, but Webster had the optimistic and strange belief that Skinny had just been  _kidding_  about the story, but when he left his hotel room to find a group gathered around Skinny and staring at Webster with barely-veiled amusement, he knew that wasn’t the case.   
  
Webster gave a mild harrumph and planted himself down next to Liebgott, who gave him a reassuring clap on the shoulder.  
  
“Fine,” he sighed out heavily. “What have I missed so far?”  
  
Skinny peeked out from where he was somewhat hiding behind Christenson’s lanky frame and smiled brilliantly at him, waving like he was just eager to see Webster for the first time that day instead of being ashamed that he was telling potentially embarrassing stories using Webster as the main character.   
  
“We were just at the villain,” Perconte helpfully supplied. “Sobel, the sea witch…”  
  
“That’s a horrifying image,” Webster muttered.   
  
“Had stolen your voice…”  
  
“And we all praised our lucky stars,” Liebgott cracked.   
  
“Anyway!” Skinny interrupted, clapping his hands together. “We were just getting to the part where Web the Mermaid was getting on shore with his brand new legs to go and try to get the Prince to kiss him.”   
  
 _And this is where it gets a little bit weird, boys, but it’s not like Web’s exactly made many female friends. So Princess Webster the Merman, because no one wants to picture Web with breasts, made his way ashore to find his great love, Prince Joe._  
  
“Okay, Skinny, not funny,” said Prince Joe as he stood on a sandy and stormy shore, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
 _Hey, you have one more awkward and weirdly charged fight with Webster and the guys and I are springing for your wedding. So, Webster, forlorn and without his voice, wandered ashore to find that his Prince was waiting for him…_  
  
Prince Joe shook his head and stared forward. “Oh for Christ’s sake, you’re soaked,” he sighed. “C’mon, the least I can do is get you to the castle. Apparently even if I have shit taste in sea creatures, I’m loaded.” And so he took the wet man into his home and fed him dinner and all the most luxurious treats that the Prince could afford.   
  
In exchange, Webster had very little to offer.   
  
For without his voice, he couldn’t explain that he needed a kiss to earn back his voice and without his voice, there was no reason to kiss him and shut him up from talking. All he had were his glorious locks of hair and his serene blue eyes and…  
  
“Skinny,” Webster the Merman mouthed. “Really?”  
  
 _Right! Sorry, moving past that awkward moment in which we all need more women around…_  
  
While Webster couldn’t charm Prince Joe with his words and couldn’t earn his kiss through frustration, they still grew closer as the days passed. They ate their meals together and took long walks along the beach and Webster even tolerated standing behind Joe and watching him take kicks at the local flora.  
  
“Seriously, Skinny?” Prince Joe asked.   
  
 _Look, we all saw you with the local runts._  
  
“They were eating my…y’know what, never mind. Screw all this,” Prince Joe announced and despite the way the story was actually supposed to go, Sobel the Sea Witch lost out on his appearance because the Prince was busy grabbing Webster by the face and planting a hard one on his lips. “Y’happy now?”  
  
It didn’t seem to help the group at all that Skinny was enthusiastically making the kissing motions with both of his hands smushed together to tell the story (as Liebgott had suddenly changed it). Webster wasn’t the only one looking absolutely horrified and in reply, Skinny affixed his very best affronted look for the boys.   
  
“Hey, I was low on material and it’s not like Joe’s being helpful,” he protested as everyone started to get up and wander away. “Where’re you going, I got one more!”  
  
“Tomorrow, Skinny,” Talbert insisted.  
  
“And uh,” Malarkey added, clapping him on the back. “Maybe run tomorrow’s through some kinda editor?”  
  
*  
  
“Okay,” Skinny announced as he sat down atop the storytelling log, glancing left and right over his shoulder and leaning forward. “This one’s a real corker and Web’s got express orders to keep his mouth shut about how I’m making the Grimms roll over in their graves. Thanks, Joe.”  
  
“You got it, Skinny,” Liebgott easily replied, his hand clamped over Webster’s mouth. “Lick me again and you’re gonna pay later, Web,” he warned under his breath.  
  
“C’mon, Skinny, what’s today’s story?” Shifty coaxed with genuine eagerness in his voice, a bright smile lighting up his face. “Seeing as it’s our very last Austria story before they start shipping us outta here.”  
  
“Only some of us are so lucky,” Martin grumbled.  
  
“Today,” Skinny spoke in a heavy whisper, “is the story of two sprightly men with a fondness for ah…well, it’s their version of candy.”  
  
 _Nixon and Welsh were both members of a household. Their parents had grown tired of their alcohol-consuming ways, however, and could no longer afford to keep them flowing in calvados and Vat 69. So together the parents hatched a horrible plan and Dike took them out into the woods in order to make a phone call…_  
  
“Hey, that’s my line!” Luz piped up from the back.   
  
 _It’s my turn to get the spotlight, Georgie, sit your ass down! Anyway, so Dike led them out to the middle of the woods…_  
  
“You boys just stay right here,” Dike advised. “I have to make a call. I’ll be back.” And then he was gone like a shot in the night, vanished behind the trees as Harry and Lew looked at his backside.   
  
“He really thinks we’re idiots, huh,” Lew commented easily.  
  
“It’s the same man who shrieked like Ma the last time we were fixing the roof. Kept saying the sky was falling,” Harry pointed out. “You been dropping things?”  
  
“Of course, I’m not an idiot.”  
  
 _See. Harry and Lew had the feeling something had been about to go down and so while Dike was leading them on twists and turns in the wood, they had taken along the labels from their various, various, **various**  transgressions in alcoholic form and had torn them apart to leave a trail in order to get back home._  
  
Lew turned to look back at the path they’d come from and found the first of many wine labels on the ground, picking it up and flicking it to the side. “This is ridiculous,” he complained. “Why are we trying to get  _back_  to them? I know we’ve made a couple of stupid decisions in our lives…”  
  
“…May fourth…”  
  
Lew groaned in sympathy. “…but there are some things that we could do that are just stupid to think about. We follow these labels and we get back to Dike.”  
  
“Or we could go there,” Harry provided hopefully, his fingers latched on something in the distance that glinted deep-green and red and white and gold, like all the colours of a glorious rainbow that could only be done by stained glass or – “The house made of bottles!”  
  
 _Now, maybe it ought to have been pretty suspicious to the both of them, but it’d been three hours since either of them had a drink of alcohol and…they’re not around me are they, you guys better tell me if my head’s about to be chopped off…anyway, so it’d been three hours since either of them had any alcohol and they were both having some issues with need. That was the reason they ended up sneaking in through the front door, clearing the room, and immediately breaking a bottle off the wall._  
  
“Nix, would you look at this, they’re full!” Harry laughed out in joy, uncorking the bottle and tipping it back for a hearty drink.   
  
“Of course they’re full, boys,” came a foreign voice from the doorway that had everyone on edge. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin to look and find…  
  
 _Hell, boys, I’m running out of people to make the villains. O’Keefe, nothing personal, buddy, but I need someone to fill in the role and we all know the Jerries ain’t got no decent taste in booze!_  
  
Lew and Harry turned to look at their company.   
  
“You have  _got_  to be kidding me,” said Lew, sipping at the bottle of Vat 69 and eyeing the little man of the house with wariness. “Look, kid, we don’t want any trouble. Our…yeah, he’s nothing to us, but he dumped us out here and we just needed somewhere to stay and something to drink.”  
  
 _Oh, come on, boys, stop looking at me like that._  
  
“I’m just saying,” Luz pointed out from the back of the group. “That come the time that the witch, sorry Keefey, is supposed to be throwing one of them in the oven, the alcohol on their skin is gonna make that place light up like bombs over Berlin. Skinny, I hate to say it, but I think your story-business is coming to a close.”  
  
“Oh, come on!” Skinny protested as groups of men started to drift away. “You don’t wanna hear about Goldichristenson and the Three Bears?”  
  
Well, that got him a glare from Chris and Web if nothing else.   
  
“Snow Tab?”  
  
The exodus only continued.  
  
“…so I’m guessing that The Boy Who Cried Spiers is just out of the question?”  
  
And that drove off all the rest, leaving Skinny alone to his sad and enchanting machinations.  _Well_ , he supposed as he packed up his things,  _not everyone appreciates true genius_. Those would be the words to comfort him to sleep that very night.   
  
THE END


End file.
